


No Luster

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:37:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nash is such a lightweight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Luster

**Author's Note:**

> originally published on tumblr last year. edited now but it shouldn't make too much of a difference

“Hey, you want to see a little magic?”

Nash’s voice is low, almost cracking like jackhammered concrete with how much he’s deepening it; the girl giggles at him and Jason’s grip tightens on Nash’s knee under the table; the outside of his suit pants would have chafed Jason’s hands if they weren’t so hardened and calloused by now and even so it’s an itchy, uncomfortable friction under his hold. If just for once, Nash didn’t try to pull this shit then maybe it would be okay. Well, more likely Jason wouldn’t know what the fuck to do because Nash always, always tries to pull this shit. They always go to some cabaret club or some shit and then Nash finds a girl or two or five to harass (fucking hypocrite) and then give a big tip to because it’s on the sponsor’s credit card (but then the Japanese supposedly hate tips for some weird reason or not, not that Jason’s going to tell Nash that—but then again that old guy who’s been showing them around might be paying the tab this time anyway, so who the fuck even knows?) and he’s shitfaced by that point already.

“Jealous?” Nash hisses into his ear, teeth grazing Jason’s earlobe like crinkled tinfoil.

“You wish.”

It’s about power, anyway, or validation, that he’s got this magic magic, that his looks or his money or his certain something can win over all the ladies or that he’s richly rewarding the establishment by given them his business, and the jealousy he’s projecting onto Jason is probably part of that, too (and it’s all too easy to make Nash jealous when he’s insinuating something-or-others with cute reporters half his height, something-or-others he only kind of half-means because they would be fun as hell in theory but they’ve also become part of the back-and-forth routine with Nash just like everything else and they'd probably be way more trouble than they're worth). Nash flags the waitress over for another martini and winks at her and she actually blushes because even drunk off his ass he can be kind of charming and Jason slides his leg further up Nash’s ankle because when he gets another drink or two in him he’ll be done for the night and they probably won’t be able to do much more than this right here.

And shit like that grates his nerve, Nash trying to have all his cakes at once, the greedy hoarding bastard. Jason swipes his hand up to the inside of Nash’s thigh, making Nash almost jerk backward in surprise and then picks up his water glass and drops it behind him.

“Hey, waiter!”

Someone comes scrambling over to pick up the shards, apologize and get him a new one (God, they are so fucking over-the-top) and Nash glares at him again but hey, someone else ought to be the center of attention for a change and they’re already on their way to trashing the table (and this whole damn place) completely so why the hell not?

The cuter waitress from before comes by with a new martini for Nash and Jason asks if she can make the water kind of snappy and then drinks Nash’s because it’s been lying there untouched since the beginning of the night and Nash is goddamn lucky he doesn’t get hangovers.

Halfway up the elevator, Nash starts to clutch him tighter and breathe harder and Jason practically has to haul him into the room. Thank God the people who designed this hotel were sensible enough to put the toilet near the tub so he can sit on the lip and hold Nash’s hair and rub his back and refill the glass of water from the bath faucet when he needs to until Nash’s stomach is almost empty and he’s managed to quell the vertigo.

“You’re such a fucking lightweight,” Jason says.

It’s not strictly true, but he’s the shortest and he drinks the most and he almost always gets smashed so he might as well be. He doesn’t usually get this bad, just slurs his words and tries to grope Jason when the cold hits him outside or something, and a couple of times he’s passed out in the limo but this is so fucking lame and neither of them wants it. Nash isn’t Jason’s goddamn responsibility and Nash resents it, too; he reaches out as if to hand the glass back to Jason and then pulls his hand back and refills it from the sink, which groans from the way he leans his whole weight on it.

They stay like that for a while, the only sounds the water falling from the tap and Nash’s gulps against the glass. Jason’s pretty buzzed, too; like this it’s easy to let his mind wander and shit, he’s tired and he doesn’t really want to go to sleep in a bathtub even if it’s a five-star hotel bathtub and it might be long enough for him to sit in and stretch his legs out all the way. He stands, shudders, stretches, steps. Nash doesn’t turn to look at him, but he’s probably watching in the mirror (Jason won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see). He doesn’t close the door behind him, just drops his clothes on the floor and crawls into bed. And sure enough, a few minutes later he hears Nash’s feet on the tiles and then the carpet, the cushioned fall of his jacket, tie, shirt, belt, pants. He gets into the bed on the other side, but as Jason drifts off Nash rolls over and bumps his head against Jason’s shoulder. He’s got no right to act cute right now, but Jason smiles anyway.


End file.
